


Power Cut

by Eloquy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquy/pseuds/Eloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was in need of a silly plot bunny yesterday, and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit">Small_Hobbit</a> asked for sheep. And dropped "Lambstrade".</p><p>So it resulted in this. But the sheep may not be alive anymore. Sadly.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Power Cut

**Author's Note:**

> I was in need of a silly plot bunny yesterday, and [Small_Hobbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit) asked for sheep. And dropped "Lambstrade".
> 
> So it resulted in this. But the sheep may not be alive anymore. Sadly.

 

 

“What happened?”

“Accident.”

Greg let out a disbelieving huff. He moved closer, a finger trailing along the overloaded table. Pans, plastic boxes and bowls were stacked up in various piles, all full of various foods.

 

Sherlock straightened up and closed the oven door. Taking off the red oven mitt, he threw it by the window.

“There was a power cut.”

“And power cuts usually give you irresistible urges to cook?” Greg didn’t wait for an answer, but snatched a bit of something breaded from a cup. Shovelling it in his mouth, he let out an appreciative groan. As he tried to grab another one, his hand was swatted back by a stern Sherlock.

“Stop it.”

 “’tis good, though.”

This earned him a glare, the kind that clearly stated that of course, the food was good. And that he was just a tiny bit stupid for even doubting it.

 

Sherlock resumed his task of cutting onions. Greg observed the quick dance of the knife that etched perilously close to fingers, before prompting:

“So?”

“Your meat defrosted. Figured I’d cook everything before it’d go bad.”

 

The “God knows how you’re annoying when that happens” was left unsaid, but Greg heard it very clearly. He took a step closer to the table and observed the spread-out dishes.

“And you expect us to eat all of this?”

“I’m expecting you to help me.”

 

Greg turned on his heels, confused, only to find Sherlock inches away from him. He sported the kind of devilish smirk that usually foreboded interesting things.

“Help you?” More a croak than an articulate answer, that.

“Yes” Sherlock sneaked around him and before he knew it, Greg was temporarily blinded by a tea towel, secured by a knot at the back of his head. Hands on his shoulders guided him to the nearest chair, where he sank in a rather ungraceful way.

 

“I may have lost track of what I cooked…” The sharp sounds of crockery being moved around gave him an inkling of what Sherlock was doing.

“…so you’re going to have to help me figure it out.”

 

The rich smell of sauce reaching his nose gave him just enough notice before a fork was shoved into his mouth. He chewed slowly, taking his time to enjoy the various flavours.

“Beef, right? With onions.”

 “And?”

Greg thought for a bit. “Touch of lime?” Sherlock hummed in agreement, before feeding him another mouthful. It was radically different, sweet and fresh. His answer came out somewhat clipped.

“Lamb. Apricots. Almonds and mint.”

The next thing that touched his lips was very much not meat, nor vegetables, but it didn’t really matter.

 

The fork clattered on the floor and the food was forgotten for some time.

 


End file.
